


Only One Option

by Brumeier



Series: Bite Sized Fic 2020 [101]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, First Meetings, M/M, Prompt Fill, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:01:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27567916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brumeier/pseuds/Brumeier
Summary: LJ Comment Fic for Random Word prompt:BBC Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes, avenueIn which things go as expected when John goes home for his father's funeral....and then they don't.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Sheppard
Series: Bite Sized Fic 2020 [101]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1610332
Comments: 12
Kudos: 34
Collections: Bite Sized Bits of Fic from 2020





	Only One Option

John had been expecting a lot of things when he went home for his father’s funeral: icy politeness from his brother, mixed emotions at now essentially being an orphan, and a touch of homesickness for the little flat on Baker Street.

He hadn’t expected to see Sherlock Holmes waiting for him at the cemetery for the graveside service, his long black coat flapping in the breeze.

“What are you doing here?” John murmured, aware of Dave’s curious eyes on the both of them.

“I gave careful consideration to all available avenues, based on the information at hand, and there was only one option that made logical sense.” Sherlock managed to look down his nose at John, even though they were of a height. “You could’ve just told me.”

“I wasn’t sure you’d be interested,” John replied honestly.

There was no sense lying to Sherlock, he’d see right through it. A lie of omission, though, was easier to sneak past his cold, calculating intellect.

“I’m only interested inasmuch as the death of your father affects your emotional stability, and willingness to stay on this side of the pond.”

It was scary, how quickly and easily John was able to decipher that. He’d obviously been living with Sherlock too long. But the sentiment was unexpectedly moving, and John had to duck his head to hide the flush on his cheeks and the burn of tears in his eyes.

He hadn’t cried for his father.

Sherlock stayed by John’s side for the duration of the service, hands occasionally bumping together but never engaging into a full hold. John could practically feel the way Sherlock was studying everyone, judging every cough and fidget and sartorial choice.

John and Dave each tossed a handful of dirt on the casket once it was lowered in the grave, and then the service was over. People came to offer condolences and hugs and promised to see them back at the house over the usual assortment of casseroles and meat platters.

“Who’s your friend?” Dave asked after most everyone else had left.

“Sherlock Holmes. We share an apartment in London. Sherlock, this is –”

“David Sheppard. The younger brother. I presume you take after your mother’s side of the family, John.” Sherlock shook his hand, no doubt calculating the firmness of Dave’s grip and relating that to strength of character. “You’re a CEO or a COO or hold a similarly high position in your father’s company. You’re accustomed to other people doing the work for you. But you write. A hobby, perhaps. By hand, which is unusual these days. A novel? Book of poetry?”

“What are you? A carnival psychic?” Dave pulled his hand back.

“He’s a consultant with Scotland Yard,” John said, surprised he felt so proud of something he had nothing to do with. “He helps solve crimes. I didn’t know you were still writing.”

John had been the one skateboarding and jumping his bike off ramps and other stupidly reckless teenage boy activities. Dave was always the more cerebral of the two of them, writing stories and reading books. John had no idea he’d kept up with it.

“You live together?” Dave countered.

“John helps me in my work,” Sherlock said. “And he’s quite a skilled lover, despite the prudishness you Americans can have on the subject of intimate physical pleasure.”

John gave Sherlock a panicked look. His sexuality was never something openly discussed, especially not with his family. They knew, of course. That was one of the reasons for his falling out with his father all those years ago.

When John dared to look at Dave, his brother’s face was flaming but he didn’t look outraged or shocked. Just embarrassed. And maybe a little amused?

“Sherlock, is it? I hope you’ll be coming back to the house. I’d love to hear more about the work you do.”

“I suppose a proper cup of tea is too much to ask for in this god-forsaken country.”

Dave outright grinned at that, and it struck John at that moment just how much he’d missed his brother, and the closeness they’d shared when they were still young.

“My wife went to college at Oxford. She’s been a tea drinker ever since.”

Sherlock visibly brightened at that. This time, when his hand bumped against John’s, their fingers twisted together.

John knew better than to thank Sherlock for coming, because he knew Sherlock would brush it off and claim ulterior, selfish motives. But John was warmed by the affection that most people would never believe existed beneath Sherlock’s condescending, arrogant exterior. 

Next time, maybe John himself needed to give Sherlock the benefit of the doubt.

**Author's Note:**

>  **AN:** I’d been wanting to follow up my last installment in this series, so this prompt came at just the right time. Sherlock may not be super good at empathy, but he absolutely would see the value in being there for John.


End file.
